


Of all the Chippies in all the Universes

by zinke



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-10
Updated: 2008-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It stands to reason that some things may be a bit different, what with my being half-human and all that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of all the Chippies in all the Universes

**Author's Note:**

> It took me five months to work up the nerve to re-watch 'Journey's End', which ought to give you some idea of just how affected I was by both the way things had ended for Rose and the Doctor and how they had begun for her and Alt!Ten. Consider this my contribution to the catharsis-fic genre – even if it is a few months late in coming.
> 
> Thanks as always to caz963 for her help and support in fic writing and all things.

Rose makes her way carefully through the crowded shop to where he is waiting for her, and even from here she can see how ill at ease he is. Back ramrod straight and hands folded tightly in his lap, she has never known the Doctor – _him_ -him or this new him – be so still for such a long period of time. To say she's concerned about his behaviour would be an understatement.

His attention is wholly focused on the crowds of people hurrying along the pavement on the other side of the window; it's a sunny Saturday afternoon in London and it seems everyone has decided to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. Until a few minutes ago she and the Doctor had been a part of the bustling activity outside, though their reasons for venturing out had been far less fanciful; the Doctor had come to this world literally with nothing more than the clothes on his back and Pete was rapidly growing tired of finding the Doctor rummaging through his wardrobe.

Shopping aside, Rose had hoped the excursion might give her and the Doctor an opportunity to get to know one another – whether for the first time or all over again, she still couldn't say. But it wasn't long before it became apparent that the unbelievable situation into which they'd been abruptly dropped was still too new, the hurt too fresh. Aside from the odd comment about the fit of a jacket or whether a particular shade of blue made his complexion resemble that of a Phasmatane, they'd said very little to one another as they'd shopped. And so, tired and frustrated, Rose had brought them here in the hope that, without the distraction of silk ties and air-cushioned trainers, they might finally be able to talk.

As she watches him now though, she finds herself questioning the wisdom of her decision. With a resigned sigh, Rose walks the final few meters to their table and slides one of two polystyrene boxes to him across the battered formica tabletop before sitting in the chair opposite and popping open her own container.

When he doesn't move to do the same, she prods the box closer to him with the tines of her fork and tries her best to sound encouraging as she prompts, "Go on, then. Dig in."

He turns to her slowly, and in the split-second before he's able to school his features into something resembling his usual expression she is able to see just how much he is hurting; and the true magnitude of the task set before her becomes apparent.

"Thanks." Mechanically he opens the box, stabs a chip with his fork and takes a bite – which he loudly spits back into the lid of the container a moment later.

"What?" Rose asks alarmed, as she watches him toss the fork aside and swipe his sleeve across his mouth with distaste.

"I've had Jahoonian goulash that tasted better."

"They taste all right to me."

Reaching over, he grabs her box of chips and raises it to his nose for a sniff. "Yours don't have vinegar on them."

"But you always loved vinegar on your chips!"

His expression falters – and in the same instant, Rose feels her heart plummet in her chest. Dropping his gaze he pushes the container away and murmurs sadly, "Not anymore, it would seem."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," he replies quickly, his eyes taking on that manic gleam she'd long ago learned not to take at face value. "It stands to reason that some things may be a bit different, what with my being half-human and all that; different physiology would suggest different chemical and electrical responses to stimuli. Plus there's that little bit of Donna Noble thrown in there to boot – which immediately begs the question: did _Donna_ hate having vinegar on _her_ chips? I seem to recall that she did – although she was never as big a fan of chips as you were. But if in fact she did, that could reflect a more concentrated human deoxyribonucleic acid transfer than any of us had suspected, which _could_ indicate—"

"D'you want mine then?" Rose cuts in, recognizing his agitated rambling for what it is – a characteristic attempt to avoid the uncomfortable issue at hand. In this case, she can't say that she blames him. To her relief he stops speaking almost immediately, blinks owlishly at her once, twice, then reaches across the table.

As the Doctor munches quietly, his attention once again focused on the passers-by outside, Rose takes the opportunity to study his features uninterrupted. She's not exactly sure what it is she's looking for – a mole just below his ear that she doesn't recognize, perhaps, or maybe the absence of the scar that he'd proudly proclaimed his only souvenir from his duel with the leader of the Sycorax. But she finds nothing amiss – no outward sign that he is anyone or anything other than _her_ Doctor.

The trouble is she knows there's so much more to it than that. While this Doctor may possess the same mind, memories, and mannerisms as his counterpart, Rose gets the sense that something is somehow off. Though he's trying his best to hide it, there's a jagged desperation in his eyes that she only remembers having seen in 'her' first Doctor. But whereas with that incarnation she'd seemed to know just what to say to take the edge off, Rose hasn't a clue how to help this not-quite-new version of the man who'd once offered to show her the whole of time and space.

As she struggles with what her next step should be, her gaze slides from the hollow expression on his face, to the hunched set of his shoulders, and finally to the now empty box he's absently skimming back and forth across the table top. Something about the picture he presents reminds her of another chip shop in another time and universe, and before she's had time to fully think things through, she's begun to speak.

"D'you remember that day you sent me home from the Game Station?" At her question, his eyes snap up to meet hers, his expression guarded as he nods slowly for her to continue. "Mum and Mickey dragged me to a chippie – that one 'round the corner from the Estate, remember? Suppose they thought it'd make me feel better, trying to pretend like things were back to normal."

He is quiet for several moments before asking hesitantly, "Did it work?"

Rose gives him an effortless, teasing grin. "I came back for you, didn't I?"

At her words, the Doctor's expression softens, his posture relaxes and Rose can feel herself doing the same. "That you did," he eventually replies with a genuine smile – the first she thinks she's seen since their arrival at Darlig Ulv Stranden several days ago.

"I'd do it again, you know."

"Even for a new-new-new Doctor like me?"

Rose doesn't reply right away; instead she stands and holds out her hand, waggling her fingers in invitation when he doesn't catch on right away. She can see the moment when he figures it out; with a wide enthusiastic smile he jumps to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. Then his hand – softer and warmer than she expects but welcome nonetheless – is in hers, gripping just a little too tightly as if there's a part of him that's afraid she'll let go.

And while she's not yet ready to promise him that such a thing won't happen tomorrow, for today she feels ready to give him her hand to hold. "Maybe not _that_ new," she finally replies as she looks up at him with a smile.

 

*fin.*


End file.
